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IV.

Adore the Gods, and plough the feas : Thefe be thy arts, O Britain! these. Let others pant for an immerse command; Let others breathe war's fiery God; The proudest victor fears thy nod, Long as the trident fills thy glorious hand.

V.

Glorious, while Heaven-born Freedom lafts ;
Which Trade's foft spurious daughter blasts ;
For what is Tyranny? A monftrous birth
From Luxury, by bribes carefs'd,

By glowing Power in fhades comprefs'd; Which talks around, and chains the groaning earth.

THE CLOSE.

This fubject now firft fung. How fung. Preferable to Pindar's fubjects. How Britain fhould be fung by All.

1.

THEE, Trade! I firft, who boast no store,

Who owe thee nought, thus snatch from shore, The fhore of Profe, where thou haft flumber'd long;

And send thy flag triumphant down

The tide of Time, to fure renown;

bless my country! and thou pay't my fong,

II. Thou

II.

Thou art the Britons' nobleft theme,

Why, then, unfung? My fimple aim
To drefs plain fenfe, and fire the generous blood;
Not fport imaginations vain,

But lift, with yon ethereal train,
The fhining Mufe, to ferve the public good.

III.

Of ancient art and ancient praife,
The fprings are open'd in my lays :
Olympic heroes ghofts around me throng,
'And think their glory fung anew;
Till chiefs of equal fame they view;
Nor grudge to Britons bold their Theban fong.

IV.

Not Pindar's theme with mine compares,
As far furpaft, as useful cares

Tranfcend diverfion light and glory vain:
The wreath fantastic, fhouting throng,
And panting feed, to him belong.
The charioteer's, not empire's golden rein.

V.

Nor, Chandos! thou the Mufe defpife
That would to glowing Ætna rife

(Such Pindar's breaft), thou Theron of our time!
Seldom to man the Gods impart

A Pindar's head, or Theron's heart;

In life, or fong, how rare the true Sublime!

VI. Now,

VI.

None, British-born, will fure disdain

This new, bold, moral, patriot strain,
Though not with genius, with fome virtue crown'd;
(How vain the Mufe!) the lay may laft,
Thus twin'd around the British Mast,
The British Maft, with nobler laurels bound!
VII.

Weak ivy curls round naval oak,

And smiles at wind and storm unbroke;
By ftrength not hers fublime: thus, proud to foar,
To Britain's grandeur cleaves my strain;
And lives, and echoes through the plain,
While o'er the billow Britain's thunders roar.
VIII.

Be dumb, ye groveling Sons of Verse,
Who fing not actions, but rebearse,
And fool the Muse with impotent desire ;
Ye facrilegious! who prefume

To tarnish Britain's naval bloom,
Sing Britain's fame, with all her Hero's fire.

THE CHORUS.

"YE Syrens, fing; ye Tritons, blow;
"Ye Nereids, dance; ye Billows, flow;
Roll to my measures, O ye Starry Throng!
"Ye Winds! in concert breathe around;
"Ye Navies! to the concert bound

"From Pole to Pole; to Britain all belong;
Britain to Heaven; from Heaven defcends my fong..

CON

C O 'N T E N T S

O F

THE THIRD VOLUME.

HE COMPLAINT

T NIGHT IX. and last. The Confolation Page 3

RESIGNATION, In Two Parts

Part I.

II.

On the Death of Queen Anne, and Succeffion of

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